My mind is suddenly spinning. An image of my metallurgie professor who was secretly working for the Resistance in Verpacia fills my mind. He was fair-minded enough with me, even when he found out I’m the Black Witch, but that was when he thought me aligned with the Vu Trin. Who are currently bent on killing me.

“He’s sweet on Mora,” Bleddyn explains, infuriatingly blasé, “but he’s on duty for the Vu Trin down at the docks, so it’s unlikely you’ll cross paths. But keep an eye out for him, nonetheless. He’s a stickler for Vu Trin protocol, and it’s likely he’d bring you in for questioning.”

I narrow my eyes at her, patting the Ash’rion blade sheathed under my tunic. “He’d have to catch me first.”

She shoots me a disbelieving glare. “He’s a Smaragdalfar rune sorcerer well versed in varg runes and varg weaponry. Trust me, you can’t best Fyon.”

I consider this, deeply thrown. “Does this Mora’lee know what I am?”

Bleddyn’s eyes flash. “No, and you best keep it that way.”

“This is dangerous,” I hiss in a coarse whisper.

She shoots me an annoyed look. “You think? Because if you have a better suggestion, I’m all ears.”

A small contingent of soldiers strides into view, marching down the street in our direction, scanning each restaurant. My heartbeat accelerates to a jumping rhythm as I demurely lower my head. Bleddyn sends them a jaunty salute, which they barely acknowledge as their eyes pass over us and they’re quickly swallowed up by the purple-clad crowds.

Bleddyn’s green gaze bores into me as she leans in. “They’re searching for you, make no mistake about it.” She glances emphatically toward the wanted postings tacked onto the surrounding plum trees. “This is your best option to blend in while your allies gather.”

I glare at her, furious at her for waiting until now to reveal so many important details—my fate, Lukas’s fate and potentially the fate of this entire realm, resting on the whims of a young Urisk teen and the kindness of a stranger. But there’s nothing to be done about it now. I grip my Black Witch figurine and follow Bleddyn into the restaurant’s outdoor seating area, primed for flight.

“Go sit and I’ll bring over some soup,” Mora’lee jauntily calls out to us, purple teapot in hand. She flashes me a bright smile and waves us toward a table by the cliff’s edge.

Bleddyn grins at me, less a true smile and more an emphatic nudge to try harder to appear normal. “Let’s go sit down, then, Ny’laea.” She hoists her Black Witch figurine. “I, for one, can’t wait to smash her head and collect my prize.”

I glower at her, and Bleddyn’s grin widens.